


Some Kind of Love

by gooseberry



Series: Listen to the Never [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/F, Female Ignis Scientia, Female Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gen, Genderswap, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/pseuds/gooseberry
Summary: He doesn’t know if he’s putting too much thought into it, but sometimes he sorta thinks there’s something going on between Noct and Ignis. Sometimes it makes more sense, and other times it makes less. Right now, it makes more sense—maybe because he’s lying on Noct’s couch, not really sure if he’s actually awake or not, and because Noct and Ignis are whispering together, standing so close they sorta look like one person.Sometimes—a lot of the time—it seems like Noct is hanging off of Ignis. She tucks herself close, sliding her arm through Ignis’s, or reaching into Ignis’s pocket to take her keys or phone, or scooting her chair over so she can exchange the food on their plates. And like, Prompto knows Ignis isn’t that cold, but she still seems unapproachable most days, kinda more like a statue than a girl just a couple years older than them. And it’s probably stupid and probably really cliche, but it kinda feels like Ignis melts around Noct, like she turns soft and pliant. She’s always looking at Noct, and putting her hand on Noct’s back, and straightening Noct’s clothes.---In which Prompto accidentally gets hit with a clue bat, learns some things about his BFF, and is just in general a really good bro.





	Some Kind of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Some fem!Ignoct, because I love Ignoct, and because ladies are my jam, and together it just makes me stupidly happy. 
> 
> For a "100 words of outsider POV" prompt.

He doesn’t know if he’s putting too much thought into it, but sometimes he sorta thinks there’s something going on between Noct and Ignis. Sometimes it makes more sense, and other times it makes less. Right now, it makes more sense—maybe because he’s lying on Noct’s couch, not really sure if he’s actually awake or not, and because Noct and Ignis are whispering together, standing so close they sorta look like one person.

The girls at school are affectionate. Not all of them, but a lot of them, doing cute, low-key flirting kind of stuff, like playing with each other’s hair and sitting in each other’s laps, giggling and whispering and walking arm-in-arm everywhere. It’s really cute—like, _really_ cute—and also pretty normal. Noct doesn’t do that, though, not with the girls at school. She’s friendly, and Prompto always sees her laughing with the other girls when their class has to split up for PE, but she doesn’t do the whole cuddling and holding hands and tickling thing that some of the other girls do. 

Prompto knows he’s Noct’s closest friend at school, and Noct is affectionate with him, but not like most of the other girls. Noct’s affection seems to cap out around jabbing him with her elbows and pulling fuzzies from his hair and hugging him if they haven’t seen each other for a week or two. The physical affection is there, it’s just not very prevalent. 

But then there’s Ignis. Sometimes—a lot of the time—it seems like Noct is hanging off of Ignis. She tucks herself close, sliding her arm through Ignis’s, or reaching into Ignis’s pocket to take her keys or phone, or scooting her chair over so she can exchange the food on their plates. And like, Prompto knows Ignis isn’t that cold, but she still seems unapproachable most days, kinda more like a statue than a girl just a couple years older than them. And it’s probably stupid and probably really cliche, but it kinda feels like Ignis melts around Noct, like she turns soft and pliant. She’s always looking at Noct, and putting her hand on Noct’s back, and straightening Noct’s clothes.

It’s just. It’s a lot, okay? Dude, he once saw Ignis kneeling at Noct’s feet, letting Noct lean on her while she put on her shoes. It’s easy to get, um, ideas. 

And there is the way they talk together, like they are now: standing together in the kitchen, Ignis’s head ducked close to Noct’s. Their faces are close enough that Prompto has to squint to see the space between them. He blinks, then closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep as he listens to Noct murmur, “You should spend the night.”

“I should be taking Prompto home, then myself.”

“It’s fine. Ignis, c’mon,” Noct’s voice says. “He’s already asleep, just let him stay.”

There’s a snort of laughter; Ignis, Prompto guesses. It’s definitely Ignis who says, “Somehow, I doubt the king will find that very assuring.”

Noct _tsk_ s, the way she does whenever she’s unhappy that she’s not getting her way. “What, he’s worried about Prompto? He’s my friend, I’m not gonna—Ignis.” There is a sound that Prompto can’t identify. “It’ll be fine. Prompto can sleep on the couch and you can share my bed.”

“If your father finds out—”

“I’ll tell him the truth,” Noct says. There’s a rustle, then a grunt, and Prompto imagines that Noct is trying to tug Ignis into compliance. “I’ll tell ‘im Prompto slept on the couch and that you stayed in my room, protecting my virtue.”

“Well then, what could possibly go wrong.” Ignis’s voice sounds dry and kinda strained, like she’s trying to fend off Noct and also not show how hard that is. Prompto sympathizes.

“Ignis.” 

There’s a wet, kinda smacking sound; it takes Prompto a few moments to realize that it’s kissing, and when he does, it feels like his stomach has decided to drop down a couple stories, maybe as far down as the lobby. When Noct speaks again, her voice is huskier than Prompto’s ever heard it, and he can feel his face begin to turn red.

“Specs, please,” Noct says, and holy shit, Prompto really, really hopes he doesn’t get hard, not from this. “For me.”

Ignis says something, or tries to say something, but Noct must be kissing her, because it’s just the sound of kissing—like, really wet kissing, kinda like in the pornos he swears he doesn’t have—coming from the kitchen. Prompto clenches his eyes shut, biting the inside of his cheek and wondering how bad it would be if he pretends to wake up, or if he just says, _I can hear you, you know!_

It’s the fear of him probably sporting a chubby—or to be honest, definitely sporting a chubby—that keeps him lying on the couch, not making a sound as Noct and Ignis make their slow, slow, so freaking slow way to Noct’s room. One of them—probably Ignis—closes the door, and Prompto is so grateful he thinks he could cry. He tries to wait, in case they come back out, like if they forgot their phones or maybe Ignis, like, comes to reason or whatever, but Noct’s door stays shut, and the apartment is nice enough that sound doesn’t carry, not between the bedroom and the living room. 

His heart is still beating fast when he cautiously fondles his dick. He’s only half-hard, but he knows he could get going easy; he feels overly sensitive, like he does after his hand’s fallen asleep and every touch feels like pins and needles. He fists himself a little, and he wonders if he feels sick because he’s trying to, uh, to stroke one out over his friends, or if it’s just ‘cause he’s scared of getting caught masturbating in someone else’s home.

And what the fuck, who is he kidding? It’s guilt, it’s totally guilt, all the way from the way his face feels hot, to the way his stomach feels like it’s turning over and over, like he might throw up. What if Ignis can read minds? What if Ignis looks at him in the morning and _knows_? He’s not—he’s never—he’s never done this before, never thought about Noct and touched himself, ‘cause that seemed like such a fucking stupid idea, like the first step on a road to misery. Noct’s his friend, and he knows what kind of shit she goes through, like the creepy fan mail and the paparazzi who try to take pictures up her skirt and the pornos with girls who only vaguely look like her but all have names like _Pump and CirCUMstance_ and _princess gets NOCTED UP!!_ and shit. Fuck. 

Prompto rolls over onto his side, wrapping his arms around a throw pillow. His dick is throbbing between his legs, and he tries to ignore it, counting back from a hundred. The third time he’s counting back he falls asleep, somewhere around the seventies, or maybe the fifties.

He doesn’t have to worry about avoiding Ignis in the morning, because Ignis has already left by the time Prompto wakes up. There’s breakfast laid out in the kitchen, scrambled eggs and toast and the fancy kind of bacon Prompto’s only ever had at Noct’s apartment. Prompto eats his share, covers what’s left so it stays warm for Noct, and retreats to the couch. He’s lying there, scrolling through a Super Fight forum, when Noct finally emerges from her room.

“Morning,” Prompto says, and when Noct grunts, Prompto offers helpfully, “Ignis left breakfast.”

He joins her at the table as she eats, because his mom taught him manners, and it’s rude to leave someone to eat alone, even if you might’ve heard them making out with their other best friend, and even if you might’ve gotten hard, and even if you might’ve thought about getting yourself off to it—

He stares at his phone, scrolling blindly through the forum posts until his face feels less like it’s about to burn off. When he sneaks a look up, Noct is stabbing her fork into the scrambled eggs. She looks bleary-eyed and lazy, like she does most mornings at school, and it’s kinda—it’s just nice. She’s just her, and that’s nice. 

“Sleep well?” he asks. When she shrugs, the collar of her shirt gapes to side, just for a moment. It’s long enough for Prompto to see the dark bruise, just to the side of her collarbone. Without meaning to, he says, “Oh.”

Noct looks at him as she lifts her fork, asking, “Oh?”

Prompto’s throat feels really dry, and he has to swallow before he says, “Uh, did Ignis give you that? The, um, hickey?”

Noctis’s fork clatters to the plate with a _ting_ , and her face goes white. Like, actually, hand-to-god white, the way Prompto’s always read in books, but hasn’t ever seen in person. He didn’t know that it was possible, that someone could turn white, or that someone—that _Noct_ —could look so scared. 

“I’m sorry,” Prompto blurts out, because he is. Fuck, he is so sorry, because this isn’t—he hadn’t meant to listen, hadn’t even meant to be curious, and shit. Shit. Noct is his best friend, and she looks like she might faint, or like she might kick him out of her apartment and maybe her life. She looks scared, like she doesn’t trust Prompto, and Prompto thinks of all those millions of people who snigger about the princess and her tits and her mouth and how good she’d look on their dicks, all the creepy fans and paparazzi and websites. He didn’t ever—he doesn’t want to be like them, never wants to be like them, and he says desperately, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I just, I heard you last night, and shit, I’m so sorry—”

“You can’t tell,” she says at the same time, but she’s not saying it, she’s pleading it, and it feels wrong to see her so desperate. “Prompto, please, you can’t. You can’t tell anyone, they’ll make us— Prompto, _please_. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t, I promise. Noct, I promise,” he stammers as he staggers around the table. He doesn’t know how to make it right, how to make up for whatever he’s done wrong, but he tries: he crouches by her chair and wraps his arms around her waist, leans his head against her arm and says, “You’re my best friend. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I won’t ever, I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend, I wouldn’t ever—I promise, Noct.”

She grabs his arm and holds on tight, tighter than she ever has before. The bruises she leaves stay for a week.


End file.
